Awkward At First
by Entwife Incognito
Summary: Another scenario for Jane and Lisbon's transition from the TSA office to their new status as a couple. Just the first night. Originally posted as part of Mentalist Disciples fan fiction collection, I've expanded it here. Two chapters, mostly strong T for intimate situations. Probably closer to M in second chapter. Disclaimer: I own nothing about The Mentalist.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N This story was originally posted in the Mentalist Disciples collection of Jisbon fan fiction and the original is crossposted there. This is an expanded and re-worked version of the original that has not been posted on FanFiction before.**_

_Sometimes, very early in the morning when I've awakened too soon and don't want to disturb her, I slip from bed and sip tea while the kitchen window fills with the pink light of dawn. My wife will walk into the kitchen, naked, the warm blush of sleep still on her skin warmed by our covers and our entangled ways. Her hair will be a glossy deep chestnut muss, tousled by her pillow, my fingers, my kisses goodnight and more. She may mumble hello and pour a cup of the coffee that I made for her._

_Everything about her is relaxed and flowing, moving in memory for what she needs, eyes slit open enough to sense light and shadow, shaded even then by the thick half-moons of her lowered lashes. Her small feet are bare, her breasts full and moving in counterpoint to the sway of her hips. She's as innocent as the light, as fresh as the sunrise breeze ruffling through the open window._

_I rarely get to see her aureoles so relaxed that they tilt up her breasts, reshaping her. Their thin delicate skin is puffy and shiny. This sight is available to me only from afar because as soon as I come near, touch or arouse her in any way, they stiffen and wrinkle under the hardening peaks of her nipples, making the familiar and seductive points on the rounds of flesh that fill my hands. Sometimes just catching my gaze does this. It makes me mad with desire._

_But I can't touch her. My fingers long for the soft skin covering every blissful curve, my body to feel hers, to join with her and live in the shelter of her breath telling me everything. How I make her feel. How she loves me. Ardor forcing us to the sublime heights._

_I can't do it on these mornings. I let her pass undisturbed until, coffee in hand, she turns for the bathroom to start a shower. Her pink haunches roll in the dawn, carrying her from my waking dream. And I am left pointing to the sky in unfulfilled blessing. The happiest moments of my life. A simple morning cup of coffee that she elevates to living, tantalizing art._

They walked out of the TSA building towards the convertible, Jane awkward on crutches. "Oh, you've still got our rental. Should we go back to the Blue Bird?"

Teresa softly set her hand on his where it gripped the crutch, grounding herself, needing reassurance. "I, I don't know what to do."

She released him to make his way to the passenger side, but he stopped to really look at her. "I don't either. But we'll figure it out. Tell me what you want."

Her mind was full of noise, white as a blizzard. She blurted the first coherent thought that popped through. "What you said on the plane . . . it changed everything."

Jane leaned against the car, propping the crutches next to him. "I wanted you to know. I couldn't let you leave without telling you the truth." His mouth worked as he tried to avoid saying something that might make him seem selfish. "And, and give myself a last desperate chance to win you."

Stepping closer, Teresa's eyes were a little wet, but the light in them soft, loving. "I only wanted to know how you felt, the n-naked you." The look she gave him begged mercy for her clumsy words. "You told me what I needed to know and I knew it was real." She shuffled her feet, anxiety sliding up her spine. "But it didn't tell me where to go from there."

There was no fear in him but he was tired as hell. Teresa had to be the same. "You're here, with me . . . instead of in D.C. with . . . well, we'll find our way."

"Yeah. I know."

Teresa wasn't having second thoughts. The impact of the past twenty-four hours was hitting her in waves of feeling and images. Jane watched her quietly and she was grateful that he knew this was not the time to touch her or interfere in any physical way.

"Hey. Are you shaking?"

"Yeah." Her voice wavered as if her teeth were chattering.

"Cold?"

"N-no." He needed the truth. "Jane . . . I'm a little . . . anxious . . . about everything that's happened."

"Still sinking in?"

"Uh-huh. I mean, I'm happy-." When she looked at him she saw that he understood. "Really happy. I love you . . . I haven't said that. I love you more, more than you can imagine."

Her eyes were wide and round, her look a little too frozen for a woman feeling a rush of love at the moment. Teresa was scared, and he couldn't blame her. "So many changes in a few hours . . ."

"I know! You feel it, too?"

"A little different, I think."

"Oh."

"Excited inside. Happy."

"Oh."

"Teresa." If she would only come to him, into his arms. "I know you're happy, too. If I loved me, a man like me, I'd be scared, too."

"A man like you? But, but I think you're the most wonderful man I've ever met. Or, or even hope to meet. I know you can get on my last nerve faster than anybody . . . but I admire you." She looked away as heat flushed through her and her heart thumped like a drum in her chest. "I, I _want_ you. _Only_ you."

"I'm glad. I feel the same about you, Teresa. _Only_ you." His heart beat fast for this wonderful, generous woman who wanted only him, but didn't want to come into his arms yet. Maybe a change of subject. "I'm curious about something."

Lisbon looked at him, face neutral and calm, a fleeting signal of concern rippling softly across her brow.

"You got off the plane. How did that happen? I'm curious. What saved me?"

She smiled, her eyes twinkling when she looked at him. "What you said. For everybody on the plane to take care of me . . . the woman you love . . . that woman in 12B." Winking, she added, "And of course that you loved me and couldn't bear to be without me."

"I didn't want to leave that plane. Or, I did, but I wanted you to come with me."

"Since you couldn't stay with me, you charged the entire roster of souls with my welfare."

"You were upset. I screwed things up so bad that I couldn't stay to, well, to take care of you."

"I was so embarrassed at first, so distressed, and so unbelievably happy, Patrick, but sad because at first I thought it was too late. I couldn't think. They did take care of me, you know."

"I'm glad. That's a lot of feelings all at once." He sighed. "Not that I was any better. I still hoped. But I never expected you to walk through that interrogation room door. You made me the happiest man alive, Teresa."

"Me, too." She moved a little closer. "You remember when I got so mad and threw the water on you? And we had those terrible words through the door?"

Jane hung his head. "How could I forget that?"

"I was so angry, so angry that you had tried to trick me again—"

"You're right to be angry. I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do. I was desperate to win you. And I did the exact opposite of what you wanted from me."

"Yes. But when you told me the truth of what was happening to you, I understood it. It made sense. I truly didn't know that the old terror was still at the root of everything for you."

"It will probably never really go away. Anyhow . . . go on. You were so angry . . ."

"Yes. I did a horrible thing, Patrick. I called Marcus in the taxi and accepted his proposal—over the phone! -to spite you and to make me have to get away from you."

"He proposed? Oh." His face was stricken. "I didn't know that was on the table. But I'm not surprised. You were going to live with him. Same thing."

"Yes. I knew it was wrong when I said yes. But I did. And that made it final. Definitely more final than just living with him."

"That's why you said it was too late."

"Yes. But of course it wasn't. I wasn't married. I was barely engaged. No words of love had been exchanged. I didn't have a ring. Everything was reversible, if I wanted it. The people on the plane, their reactions to you, helped me see that. Helped me see what a mistake it would be to go to a loveless marriage out of spite and, and lack of backbone. No matter how scared I felt, I needed to go where my love was."

"To me?"

"Yes. I would have tried to love Marcus and be a good wife to him. Marrying him would have been the biggest mistake of my life. Because, it would be final for me. There's no room in my faith for divorce."

Jane made a mental note to propose and secure their engagement as soon as possible. There was no reason to wait.

Suddenly embarrassed by what her statement implied, she turned red and stuttered, "Oh. N-no, I didn't m-mean-."

"I do. I do mean marriage, Teresa. It doesn't have to be right away. We can adjust to our new . . . relationship first. But I really don't want to wait long. Do you?"

"No. There's no reason for us to wait. But I understand why you might want to wait on such a flighty potential fiancée. I think I might have destroyed some of the trust you had in me. How I handled myself in this . . . mess. I'm so sorry. You deserved much better. Especially from me. Because I love you, Patrick. And I've loved you for a very long time. I just . . . I just got lost. Angry and hurt and lost."

"I know how that can be." He grimaced, not wanting to continue a tender subject, but he had to know. "Pike never told you he loved you? How could he-? It's impossible."

"I guess it's not. Because I never told him that, either."

"And you would have married him?"

"Yes."

"I feel like dirt for driving you to it."

"Don't. I'm the one that did it. And it's fixed now. So, let's let it go. Okay? Do you think you can?"

"A loveless marriage? I might have to think I saved you."

"We love each other, the only thing that matters now, Patrick."

She watched him fidget, thinking that standing so long on his damaged ankle must be uncomfortable. But he was not thinking about his ankle.

"Usually those words are said inside the arms of the lovers." He reached out and she pressed into his arms, burrowing her cheek against his chest. She was so warm and alive and his senses were full of her, trying to take charge of his body. And he wasn't ready yet. But he nuzzled her hair and whispered, "I'll always save you, Lisbon."

"I want you to."

"From things like this . . ."

"Yes." She looked carefully into his eyes. "I still don't want you to control my life or me."

"I've learned that lesson. It's been a hard lesson, but I think if we talk to each other it will save us both from the long hell we've just been through."

_I remember our first day and night together. So many thoughts and subjects, issues impinging on what needed to be quiet, relaxed and without obstacle. Life isn't often easy like that for Patrick and me. Our heads couldn't clear. We didn't know each other this way and desperately wanted to explore what it meant to be together. But we wanted to hold back, too. Something that should have been simple, tender, became awkward and tentative. We had to work to keep it from becoming a barrier. We cleared away what each felt to be imperative, immediately._

_The silence that came was existential, just us experiencing one another's company without comment. My husband is a wonderful man to keep silence with because he is never silent. The light in his eyes, the infinitely expressive positions of his face, lips and brow make me want to be close to him, watch his whole body change with my proximity. The power Patrick cedes to me is irresistibly erotic, the pull immense. But I was afraid of it at first. I didn't know what to do. Or what he wanted me to do._

The traditional demands of personal space had come to mean little to them over their years of a close personal work partnership, but suddenly each was conscious of it. As they walked towards the entrance to the Lodge, Teresa took the crutch on his good side and moved closer to Patrick, bumping him when their steps didn't quite coordinate. He put his arm across her shoulder and, when she reached around his waist, pulled her closer still. They walked a few steps, just trying it on.

"This feels nice, Teresa."

Her eyes glittered in the sunlight when she turned her face to him. "Like a homecoming."

Shoes scraping to a stop, he dropped his other crutch to swing her high onto his chest, her feet dangling. He was almost gasping for air, hugging tight and repeatedly pressing his head against hers as she hung onto his shoulders. "You're my home, now."

"That settles it, then. We share a hotel room." Emboldened at first by her own words, Teresa moved her knees higher, then quickly lower again. Her instinct was to wrap her legs around his waist so that she could squeeze Patrick, too. The impulse carried a sexual charge and made her highly conscious of what she would be placing, and want to rub, against his stomach.

Part of her felt like a wild animal, heart racing, sure that Patrick could feel it pound. Sometimes, near release, a wildness would take her, but not at the very beginning like this. It scared her a little. The impulses, images flooding her mind and body, embarrassed her, imagining what Patrick would think if she let herself act as she felt. Yet something told her he would want that more than anything, once they began their sex life.

Their sex life. Loosening her hold signaled that she wanted to be let down. His hips jutted to let her slide down his body rather than drop and she felt the strength of his own desire. His face was pink, his lips parted, but he set her gently down and released her as her cheeks flushed to match his own.

Handing him the crutches, she spoke quietly. "C'mon. Let's get into my room. Yours is a crime scene."

Jane stopped at the desk to arrange the continued use of Lisbon's room. When they walked in, the three dresses still graced the bed where Lisbon had left them. The police had released Jane's room as a crime scene but it hadn't yet been cleaned. They were given permission to get his things out of it while the porter secured Lisbon's bags.

An easy silence settled as they put their stuff away.

"Do you mind if I shower first?"

Teresa smiled as she plumped the pillows and loosened the covers. "Go ahead. I can wait a few minutes."

"I'll put some clothes back on if you want. But really, I'd rather not sleep in them."

"Oh, no, of course not! I'll just put on my nightie. Do you have pajamas?"

"Will lounge pants and a tee shirt do?"

"Sounds comfortable for both of us. You want to order room service for lunch?"

"Yeah. Lunch and then a nice long nap."

Suddenly she was looking at him, a little anxious. Not surprising at all. "A nap for both of us, huh?"

Tension visibly draining away, her tight shoulders dropped and relaxed. "Oh yes, I could really use some sleep, too."

_There is no finer sight than my husband emerging from a shower, his toweled curls springing from his head, skin pink from hot water, smelling of fresh soap and shampoo. His feet bare, muscular arms showing under the short sleeves of a thin white tee shirt. Nowadays he may emerge naked or with a towel wrapping his waist._

_But his "lounge pants" that first night—clingy, gray tencel jersey, thin as a negligee. Not so sheer, but certainly leaving little to the imagination either front or back. He said heavier pants made his legs too hot and he couldn't sleep. I always tell him he has the hottest legs, no matter what he wears. Makes him smile, puff out his big beautiful chest a little._

_I'll never forget when he walked out of the bathroom after that first shower. He entered the room like a god, steam rolling behind him, clothes clinging in the dampness, the warming lamps little suns in billowing fog behind him. My first glimpse of everything that makes him male and it took my breath away—obvious, soft and bobbing as he walked, size changing as soon as he saw me looking. The back view was just as heavenly, incredibly round and firm, begging to be handled._

_Some of our shyness disappeared over lunch on the bed, we were so hungry. By the time I came out of the shower, the curtains darkened the room. Patrick was on his side, asleep, leaving room for me, the little spoon. He looked so sweet on top of the covers, toes wiggling in his sleep, shirt already hiked above his belly, pants hanging on his hip bones. I had to wake him to free the covers._

"Oh. Sorry." He rubbed his eyes out of habit. "As soon as I put my head down-."

"Shhhhh. Don't worry. I'm sure I'll do the same thing. But let's sleep under the covers instead of on top."

Lifting himself, he caught the covers to pull them out and then over them both. "Do you think you're going to need all these covers? How about just the sheet? I'm pretty warm to snuggle into."

"A sheet will be fine." She pushed the blanket and bedspread to the bottom, then lay on her side to face him.

They smiled, eyes darting the length of each other's bodies, absorbing one another with calm satisfaction.

Jane held his arm out. "A goodnight kiss?"

Teresa scooted close, blushing in the dim ambient light as Patrick's lips found hers. His kiss was soft and expressive rather than demanding and it relaxed her immediately. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder, holding tight as she kissed him back. They broke for a full embrace.

"You feel wonderful. Squashed against my chest with your lips on mine."

The kiss, the embrace and then his words enflamed her. Wild instinct prompted her with heat and a galloping heart, forcing the truth from her lips. "I want to be naked with you soon, Patrick. I want to make love with you."

"Very, very soon. Let's try and rest up for it." He held out his arm again. "Will you spoon with me?"

Quietly she turned and snuggled her back against his chest, her bottom resting on his bent thighs. It felt like the safest place in the world as he curled his arm over her and kissed the top of her head.

"Good night. I love you, Patrick."

"I love you, Teresa."

True to her word, Teresa sank straight into a deep sleep, Patrick following by milliseconds.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N I felt there was more to this story, and so did a few others who asked me for it. So I've added a last chapter. It probably gets into M territory in places.**_

Dim coral light edged the closed drapes and dusted the deepening shadow in the room. Teresa snored lightly, arms thrown high and bent, a frame around her head, coral highlights in the fan of her hair across the pillow. To Patrick, propped on an elbow and watching her, Teresa seemed frozen in a dream ballet, one leg bent under the sheet as if preparing for a sweet jeté. Except for the snoring.

He smiled, filled with a tickling incredulity that he could be looking at the woman he loved, in their bed, soon to wake, soon to turn to him. What should he do? Longing to touch her, make love to her . . . trying to imagine it, was impossible after more than a decade of training himself to ignore the forbidden. He couldn't ignore it anymore and, truthfully, he was a little afraid. It was impossible that he couldn't please her . . . wasn't it? Or, what if . . . she didn't please him? Now that _was_ impossible. Thinking made his blood feel as gelid as vodka in the freezer. When she stirred, he almost jumped.

Still asleep, Teresa dropped her arms and squirmed to comfort on the mattress. One hand fell against Patrick's thigh, the shoulder of her nightie dropping down her arm. Her skin looked so soft. Pale and creamy, even cast in fading rusty light, freckled everywhere. His fingertips hovered a fraction of an inch over the dip below her collarbone that led to the swell of a breast. He wanted his lips there. The competing desires of his fingers and his lips became a strobe of fantasy in his imagination and his male nature responded. Pulling the hand away, he maintained his vigil instead.

Teresa felt pleasant warmth along her left side and as she floated from sleep, she wanted to roll into it. Her hand rested on the heat source, solid. Her fingers tested it before she let her hand run lightly up and down . . . a leg! Patrick! She jerked her hand away, gasping, and moved her body slightly toward the edge of the bed, turning her face to see his tight smile and anxious eyes. "I'm sorry!"

His eyes darted away as the smile began to fade from his lips.

"No! Don't look away! I didn't mean it that way, Patrick. I, I didn't realize I was touching you. I was asleep."

He held his hand open to her. "I know. I was watching you. So beautiful, Teresa. I'm . . . I'm . . ."

She put her hand where he held his open, so large that her small one was completely hidden when he closed over it, squeezing gently. So warm. Like him. "I know. I'm a just a little afraid."

"Of me?" He kissed the inside of her wrist, holding the tiny hand as if afraid to let go.

"No. Never you. Of something new between us. I'm afraid I'll ruin what we already have. And, and maybe I've already ruined it by trying to leave you, going to marry someone else."

'Someone else,' she'd said. She planned to marry him! "You haven't ruined anything. You've made everything right, Teresa. It was me, pushing you away by refusing to tell you how I felt. I was terrified then. Now, I'm only a little afraid . . . of how to be with you, draw you close . . . never make you feel unloved again."

She freed her hand and stroked his cheek when he lowered his head. "I know how constant you are. What you went through . . . what it took for you to tell me . . . I could never doubt your love again, Patrick." Rubbing her thumb along his lips, she suddenly looked into his eyes. "I, I can't believe you allow me to touch you like this!"

He leaned into her, rubbing his stubbly cheek against her palm, hot breath streaming in short bursts through his lips. "Touch me any way you like. Anywhere. I love you and I want you to touch me, hold me, love me. I dream of it. I want to do the same for you."

"Part of your wish for me to be happy."

"Yes!" His breath stuttered as emotion overtook him and his tears filled the seam where she touched his face, running down her wrist to drip onto the pillow. "I'll do everything, _everything_, to make you happy, Teresa." He was dangerously close to sobbing.

"Shhhhh . . . shhhhh . . ." Her voice was so low, he opened his eyes to see if she was actually speaking. The eyes greeting him were a startling green under unshed tears. "I want to make you happy, too . . . my only love." She smiled to see his incredible eyes on her, blues and greens mixed together like the swirling sea. A bare two inches from her face, closer than she had ever been to him. His breath feathered her hair.

Their lips touched as they moved to each other, soft and exploring at first, then generating a passionate enveloping heat from an embrace that could not be close enough anymore. Patrick remembered the hollow below her collarbone and made love to it with his mouth, until he had to stop, Teresa moaning and gasping for breath.

"Do you want to see me?"

Without opening her eyes, chest pumping, she said, "Feel. Feel you."

Gently, he took her hand and brought it low to his body, his hand on top as hers wrapped him, moving, testing his flesh as her breath deepened and her skin took fire, igniting him. He groaned into her ear, "I want to feel you . . . feel myself inside you." Filling his hands with the breasts that pressed against his chest, he lowered his head and began kissing them. Everything about them was perfect and beautiful.

Teresa let his rigid flesh slide from her hand to grip his arms and press her breasts into his mouth, savoring its warmth and the wide tongue that laved the peaks of her flesh. She felt the full strength of his desire, almost inquisitive in the way he rubbed against her. "Patrick . . . please . . . will you get on top of me?" She rolled to her back while he moved over her, tugging the nipple still in his mouth and nudging her legs apart.

He felt where her body opened to him, fingers petting and exploring gently until she thrust against his hand with a moan. Eyes watching each other, they both cried out as he slowly pushed in, her heat and swollen pressure making his scalp tingle. Teresa started to hyperventilate and Patrick covered her mouth with an oxygen-depriving kiss, bringing her back to him and to their bodies winding for release.

"Come with me, Patrick!"

"Yes," he breathed.

He began a strong rhythm and she moved with him. Only a couple minutes later, her breath caught and she bowed up, jutting her hips powerfully. He moved harder and faster, sending them over the edge together, calling each other's names.

_Our first time, the sexual flush on Teresa's skin took my breath away. It covered her throat, chest and succulent breasts like endless shades of pink petals. It even painted the tender flesh inside her upper arms. Looking at her, the sensitivity, the responsiveness of it excited me and I couldn't stop kissing her. She loved it, laughing and sighing, arching her neck to the side and splaying her arms wide, thriving in the worship I felt and gave._

_Everything she did drew me in more. We had the most wonderful first night together imaginable. And many, many days and nights since. She is lusty and adventurous, sometimes feral and wild, gentle and sweet. She pleases me endlessly. I think I please her, too. It makes us very happy, and that happiness carries into every part of our lives, makes even the hardest things easier, softens any anger. It's rarely just sex, and it helps keep everything in perspective even when it seems we can't get along about anything else. _

Dinner was on the bed at midnight in the light from the sun lamps shining through the open bathroom door. Their trays were loaded with steak, salad with slices of crunchy crouton on the side, and fries so crisp they snapped when bitten. Ravenous hunger and thirst limited conversation. Patrick chose the wine, a red deep enough to mimic blood and bruises, but silken delight on the palate. It unwound Teresa's muscles like the aftermath of another fine orgasm and put a loose, easy grin on Patrick.

He looked good, a towel wrapping his waist when he opened the door and set their trays outside for pick-up. Sneaking behind him, Teresa grabbed the tucked end of the towel and whipped it off of him. He pivoted to face her and when he caught the serious look as she studied him slowly from top to bottom, stood still. He turned for her and she studied him from behind.

"Turn-about!" His voice was low, maintaining the seriousness between them. She stood calmly, turning, warming under his appreciative eye.

There were no words for a while as they satisfied newly awakened curiosities.

The hours between dinner and breakfast were a series of tender ministrations and declarations of love, caring for one another in every way possible, whether it was talk, affection, bathing one another, napping or deeply satisfying sexual exploration. Waking up sore, they worked through their newly stressed and heavily used muscles by taxing them again.

Patrick groaned when he shifted his hips to move closer after a short nap. Maybe it was a brief blackout.

"Just get right back on that horse." Teresa grinned at him and her dilated eyes had a warm, predatory look.

"I'm the horse this time." Patrick lay flat against his pillow. "You have to get on top and ride me."

By now, their initial self-consciousness had been overtaken by a relaxed, permissive curiosity and simple desire.

She snorted a laugh and obliged, teasing her ride expertly until he was working hard underneath her, chasing his pleasure as she took hers.

When they woke from their last nap, early daylight streamed through the edges of the drapes. They ate breakfast on the balcony, a banquet under a blue sky bright with sun in the mild weather, opening for forkfuls offered from each others' plates and slurping down huge quantities of coffee and tea which they kept to themselves. A shower after breakfast was hot and lengthy because of their sudsy mutual physical attentions. They emerged more happy and satisfied than rested, but it was a delicious languor.

Counteracting a shared level of melancholy at leaving the room, they allowed themselves to seem glued together as they checked out.

"Hold hands?" Patrick asked after they'd buckled into the convertible.

Teresa quickly slipped her hand into his, smiling. When she let him go so that he could shift out of the parking space, he immediately picked up her hand and settled it on top of his, closing on her hand again when he was through. Sometimes she rested her hand on his thigh, squeezing lightly with her fingers. They kissed at red lights and stop signs. Even on the plane that brought them back to Austin, Patrick and Teresa were always touching somewhere, and happy for it.

_We laugh now, but when we first returned to work I overreacted about public displays of affection. What a soldier I was! Poor Patrick. I chewed his ass and rebuffed familiarities that we'd shared for years as friends! It hurt him and everybody noticed. I got the dirty looks and Patrick the sympathetic, comforting ones. I was an idiot, hurting him. Everyone knew we were together. Everyone wanted us together. No rules were being broken. I was trying to enforce an illusion of professionalism that was not only false but completely unnecessary. We were perfectly capable of accommodating our romantic relationship in a professional setting. Most of the time. Oh, Patrick got lots of good make-up-. Well, let's just say it took a long time to assuage his feelings. And I loved coddling him for the hurt I'd caused._

_We didn't know what our living arrangements would be ultimately, only that we wouldn't live apart anymore. We promised each other another love nest soon. That's a promise we kept then. We still manage it. And family treks in the Airstream, too. Four of us are the perfect number._

_Sometimes I wonder what my life would be, had I gone on to Marcus and left Patrick behind. What sadness. What waste. The destruction of three lives. I would have wasted Patrick's life, too. He could never be happy without me and what I bring to his life. I know because he tells me all the time. I believe him because I feel exactly the same way about him. I can't imagine such happiness with anyone else._ _It's the best thing I've ever done._


End file.
